An' mony an anxious day I thought
We wad be beat!
Yet here to crazy age we're brought,
Wi' something yet.
And think na, my auld trusty servan',
That now perhaps thou's less deservin',
An' thy auld days may end in starvin';
For my last fou, bushel
A heapit stimpart I'll reserve ane quarter-peck
Laid by for you.